Caterwauling

The Options Pits

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

As a publisher, I spend a lot of time agonizing over brand identity. What is my overarching brand, how do I promote/preserve it, are my products/services continually fulfilling our mission, and are my direct reports walking/talking/breathing their individual brands as they fit within the greater franchise?

These are the things that put me to sleep during the day and keep me awake at night.

I’m not complaining — I’m in my element. This is the career path I was meant to take.

But it doesn’t come without some loss of brand identity of my own.

And that frustrates me sometimes.

I had my own “thing” I’ve been known for, for many years. I am actually pretty much an idiot when it comes to finance, but I know options like nobody’s business.

So, my knowledge base contains things that 99% of investors will never, ever learn about or use. Which makes me VERY marketable. And, as I say, that’s why I command the medium bucks!

However, I’ve always operated at somewhat of a deficit. I learned options the hard way — without knowledge of the stock markets in general. I’ve been trying to back-and-fill and spackle the holes in my financial brain for years.

But it was OK — I was always “The Options Goddess.” Any idiot can talk stocks with you. You wanna construct a broken-winged butterfly or an iron condor? I’m your girl.

And … I now have NO USE WHATSOEVER for this knowledge.

Sure, I can open up a trading account and do it myself. But I’m lazy. 🙂 I guess I always expected I would work with famous options traders like I did before.

And while I’ve always been the options expert on staff, I’m in a place where I know more about them than the actual options experts we pay. Which is fine. But I feel like that part of my brain is atrophying — I don’t use my options knowledge that much anymore.

Sure, I dust it off when I flip into “editor” mode. But as publisher, I am really trying to get out of the day-to-day and eventually just be a consultant on the editorial instead of playing all the instruments in the band when I have records to sell and concerts to book!

So anyway, when I proposed we do something options-ish, I was given a green light. And then a red light.

And a part of me died. Not because my so-called authority was, gasp, challenged. But because I thought my stupid little project would keep my widdle options brain sharp.

And I came to realize in a big way that I’m not “Options Goddess” anymore. I mean, sure I can and probably always will be. But that’s not my life’s purpose anymore. I have a broader universe of responsibilities that may include options someday. But it’s so much bigger than that now.

So, in branding my boys and my business, I have one of my many new purposes in life. And after sleeping on it, I’m OK with that.

Sure, I guess I caught the football and made my team win the Super Bowl. But I am consciously letting that moment go and moving on to own the team. Well, it’s a team in another town and it’s going to need a lot of work to run as efficiently as the one I came from. But THAT is where I get to make a difference. I get to construct my own winning team instead of playing one position.

Sure, I got good at my position. Great at it, actually. Well-known within a very broad circle, actually. Fuck it — I RULED, people.

I’ll rule again. Just in a different way. One that lets me work normal hours, call the shots and make other people into stars.

And after being a star, I know how it feels. And it’s a feeling I can’t wait to help others experience.

Cafe Versailles, Miami

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This was one of those days in which I entered the Compound and, within 12 minutes, I was searching for my car keys to drive to the nearest bridge to jump off.

But then I realized the nearest bridge is a block north and another block east. But there’s no parking right by it. And it was already 87 degrees and too damn hot to walk. So I might as well deal with the Calamity of the Day.

Whee!

I was thinking about the Den of Iniquity, how most of the employees were “A” players. (*Resisting urge to sing “C is for Crackhead” to the tune of Cookie Monster.*)

But wow, we had such a good gaggle of employees. Whatever we were paid or whatever our (useless) titles were, we were a real team. If I had to call someone on a Sunday night, they picked up and fulfilled my request as cheerfully as possible, because I wasn’t calling of my own accord and it was ALL our asses on the line if impulses weren’t accommodated ASAP.

And then you get these kids who have it SO good, and they have no idea. They have never been forced to walk on hot coals with their clothes on fire and a little monkey banging their head between cymbals the whole way. And Satan shoving a hot poker up your ass while Jesse James tattoos your twat and his girlfriend of the week pierces your nipples using a rusty nail.

Yeah, you ain’t never experienced pain, kids. Not till you can top that!

I’m not saying that terrorizing employees is the best way to motivate them. But there is something to be said for hiring more-mature people who work well together as a team, instead of artificially putting a team together (i.e., hiring the lowest bidders, in many cases) and hoping for the best.

I ran into one of my ex-bosses at Publix tonight. I realize I have more ex-bosses than I do ex-boyfriends. It was cool. It was a decent conversation. He hired me where I work now, so I praised him for his good taste and said I hope I hire as well as he does.

(Minus that one whose mug shot appeared in my IM a week after I let her go. That was fun. Good times. I championed her, but he was the one who picked her. We all make mistakes!)

Speaking of mistakes, I had to serve as an ATM again this morning. I made sure to tell the UEOEH that she is getting thrown out on her ass if I see anything so much as resembling cake or candy in this house with my money. The end, no questions asked. So far, I see nothing. Proof that she DOES comprehend what’s said to her! Who knew?

Downtown Miami

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Lady L and I road-tripped to Little Havana in Miami today, to try the famed Versailles’ Cuban sammiches. We also got fried plantains, cafe con leche, guava cookies and a delicious Spanish Baguette sammich (with chorizo and Manchego. Dear God, YUM).

We also spent the afternoon with her friends D and L, and their precious five-month-old daughter. Who is by far the cutest baby I have ever, ever seen.

And of course, there’s that stupid twinge that I want one. But I liked her because she’s adorable, she was quiet and cooing and ridiculously enjoyable in her stylish outfit in her bouncy chair. Toss in poopy diapers, a meltdown and the teenage years and, yeah, that kills the baby fantasy REAL quick.

So I decided I will be a foster parent. I can keep a kid during infant and toddler years. Then I can hand the kid back to its (rehabilitated) parents when it starts to need shit.

I had this long, ridiculous conversation (argument?) with the UEOEH yesterday. And I bottom-lined it that she needs to exit, stage left, pronto. I cannot even look at her anymore. I just want her gone.

I hear that a cousin is very angry with me — that I don’t take “good enough care” of my mother. The FUCK? Apparently she told my mother that had my mom gone to live with her, she would have given her access to health care and helped her get a job.

I’m like, A) WTF is she withholding said help for, and B) how soon can I put your ass on a plane?

I guess the offer expired four years ago. Apparently said cousin had asked me, casketside, if I wanted her to “take” my mom and I said no. So this is all MY fault. (God DAMN the UEOEH needs a new fucking tune to sing.)

I said, well, why does anybody need to TAKE her? Who the fuck thought that four years after my grandfather died, she’d still be sitting on her ass, watching the Food Network in my master bedroom? If I knew she would still be more dependent than an infant, fuck YEAH I would have said to banish her to the Midwest, never to be seen again. I didn’t want my cousin to be burdened … but I never DREAMED I would be, either.

Anyway, that was probably the highlight of the two-hour conversation. I seriously just can’t take another minute of this and I don’t know why she doesn’t shove the fuck off now that I have clarified (for the 40th time) that I don’t want her here.

She says that life is so short and that I will regret not being nice to my mother. I said, no, life is so short that I will regret having to waste so much time having her underfoot and not doing the things I want or enjoying my apartment because she won’t leave it.

I’m at my wits’ end on a lot of things right now. Her, first and foremost, but after enjoying the beauty and luxury of D and L’s apartment, I think luxury is what I want. No, I know it. I’m tired of struggle and annoyance and worry and waiting. I’ve done enough of each.

I think I see a clear path to the life I want. But I need to put all the distractions in check. I rediscovered my motivation. And damn it, I’m over this plateau. I’m gearing up to move up.

It’s been a busy weekend. I reconnected with some folks last night. Really had a wonderful time. It reminded me that there are some really intelligent, competent, loving and downright extraordinary people in my life. And that while I often think God is torturing me by putting all my friends in other cities, He’s done just fine by having great people right here for me.

At church tonight, Pastor John said something that I actually wrote down: “How can you be in a love relationship with someone you don’t spend time with?” It was about making time every day to hang with God, but it hit me on a variety of levels. I don’t spend the time with God that He deserves.

I was also thinking that my luck always seems to change for the better when Lady L and I are hanging out. We have “parking karma” and “seating karma” and “travel karma” and all kinds of positive events that we chalk up to having collective good karma.

When I’m with the UEOEH, the meal is always wrong, someone walks into her and dislocates her shoulder, the traffic sucks, there are no good parking spots and, well, I have to pick up the check anyway. 🙂 I’d much rather pay for a great experience.

The argument with UEOEH yesterday started over her saying she was dressed and ready to go out. And my reply was my usual disinterested, “Good for you.” Which turned into her asking me if I’m embarrassed to be seen with her. (The hell?!?!) And I said, point-blank, that I can’t stand being around her and I shouldn’t have to be subjected to entertaining her on top of everything else when I hate being in the same zip code with her these days.

I don’t know. I feel like I should start focusing — really focusing — on work and travel. That’s it. Just put (and keep) the blinders on and bust my butt to afford the rewards I want.

Let’s face it, UEOEH isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going to have a warm body in my bed anytime soon. I’m not going to fit into the smallest size in my closet (that I was wearing at this time last year. Le sigh). I’ve got to just do what I know how to do … and that’s to work, and to leave. At least I’m good at something.

2010 wasn’t the year of “happy” that I expected. It was one of change, though, and that’s just fine. 2011 will be the happy year. I just have to lay the groundwork right now first.

Fairmont Pacific Rim

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Had the best night out ever last night. I was apprehensive at first. Tried on about seven outfits. Ended up going casual with an old favorite.

(Nothing fits … diet starts again tomorrow. But first? Road trip to Little Havana with the lovely Lady L for a Cuban sammich!)

I call my friend “Lady L” because, well, her name starts with L. But I was thinking at some point, she’s also “Lady Luck” as well. Because, seriously, if you want your life to be better, don’t you hang around with people who have a great attitude and to whom great things come because of that ray of sunshine shooting out of their butt? 😉

I’d love to say I’ve been deep in my head the past few days. But I haven’t. Clarity has struck me in a way that I never anticipated. And maybe my new glasses are just the right strength, but I’m seeing the world with 20/20 vision.

And I’m both loving it and hating it at the same time.

In quasi-related news, the UEOEH and I had a long, ugly talk yesterday. Lots of tears (from her). Lots of accusations. Lots of misperceptions and missing the point. I NEEDED our group night out last night to recover from it!

I won’t bore anyone with the details. But I will say I’m looking at a lovely dining room set. I also zeroed in on my dream car.

I decided not to enroll in our 401(k) plan at work. At least, I’m going to miss the Monday deadline. It’s my intent to enroll in January. I am going to save up for a down payment on my dream car as my Christmas present to myself.

It will be nice to have a car whose A/C works. That doesn’t lurch at red lights. That actually stops when dumbfuck pedestrians and bicyclists dart out in front of me when I’m speeding along the A1A.

I’m back to my “I don’t want to have kids” phase. I had a long talk with someone about my childhood. And I realize why it’s important to me to have freedom, privacy and, oh, cash. Never had a drop of any of it till I was into my second decade.

I want 1,200-threadcount sheets. I want to fly first class to Barcelona — and, hell, to Baltimore! I want to not fret that the car loan is going to be $60,000 simply because I have shit credit. I want to pay for Mom’s seat on the space shuttle to the moon. I want plastic surgery. I want the finest wines and cheeses that money can buy.

And that will be Enough for me.

I just hope to earn (or have access to) enough to enjoy the lifestyle to which I expect to become accustomed!

Palm at night

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

In the midst of evaluating employees, naturally I am on the list to BE evaluated. Lucky me!

My boss is after me to be tougher. She wants me to be, at work, the same Goddess I am when I start talking about my mother. That’s when all the “dipshits” and “dumbasses” and “motherfuckers” start flying out of my mouth.

THAT’S the Goddess she loves. That’s the one she wants running the first floor. And not just so that she doesn’t look like so much of the Wicked Witch in comparison to Glenda the Good Witch. 😉 (Her analogy, not mine!)

I like that we’re a team, running the division. I do like being “nice” although I see what she means — it’s draining when people don’t put forth their best effort and I’m the asshole trying to coax it out of them when I should be a LOT more bottom-line about it.

But this is good. This is the mentorship I never really got. My leadership ability came out of Jack Welch, Peter Drucker and Patrick Lencioni books, for the most part.

And all my leadership roles have had me in “doer” mode — i.e., you never really manage to improve the PROCESS because you’re so immersed in it that you can’t stop a train that’s got momentum and no functioning brakes.

So, whenever I’m being a wuss, she’s asking, “So how’s your mom?” and that unleashes the hellfire and fury of the demons.

I swear, that woman (the Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest) is going to be the death of me. And if she’s the reason why I go to hell instead of heaven, well, at least we’ll be in different places for eternity!!!

In the middle of the night, I found candy under my pillow. After a big argument about how she needs a dorm fridge in her room if she keeps insisting on having sweets in the house (as I am a terrible 2 a.m. snacker and fan of all things sweet). Which is why I’ve put on *mumblemumble* pounds that I’d worked SO HARD to lose.

Of course, last time I had this discussion with her, it was, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The same asshole who pushed a huge piece of cake in my face last night and I flat-out told her to go to hell in response.

Now, this is the sad part. A friend of mine’s family threw her a birthday party last night. With candles and a gourmet cake and whatnot. Fuck, I don’t even think I remembered to text her “Happy Birthday.” Or maybe I did it “from” George the dog, like she texts me as my cat Kadie. (Which annoys the FUCK out of me, thanks.)

I almost felt bad that someone else’s family treats her better than I do. But they can buy her a cake; I pay her fucking rent and bills.

My boss suggested I hand her a one-way plane ticket to Pittsburgh on Dec. 31, to show I’m serious about her getting her shit together and going the fuck away from me. I’m not opposed to this idea.

Of course, it all comes down to the fact that the UEOEH is perfectly wiling to go anywhere I put her … as I’m paying for it, after all.

And that’s my problem. I don’t want to pay for it anymore.

Of course, my friends say that a paltry amount of $250 could probably rent a nice ratbag apartment in Pittsburgh. 🙂

I watch other people who only get motivated in dire situations. Pending homelessness? Yeah, time to get a job. Tired of Ramen noodles? Perhaps it’s time to work harder and get a promotion.

Most others are complacent their whole lives. I don’t know why I have this feeling of something stuck in my craw all the time — I always want to be better, I want more, I want change and I want it NOW.

Well, except when it comes to being fat. I like blaming that on my mother. 🙂 Hell, I blame everything ELSE on her!

I was just telling someone that every wish I make is for her to meet a man. Even on my OWN birthday cupcake, it was “Please oh please, God, let mom meet a man and marry him ASAP.”

I don’t even wish for myself, people. And I’m as horny and as cranky as it gets. If anyone needs a man, it’s ME!

Today she was stalking me as I brewed my first cup of coffee. (Grrr.) She asked if I slept in. Uh, it’s Saturday and it’s 7:30 a.m. I’m usually in the car by now. WTF do you think?

I ignored her but of course she kept talking. Getting hints ain’t her thing.

Basically she said she was just about to come in and wake me up when I got up. (And I would have hit her with the candy I found under my pillow, I swear.)

I said why on EARTH would you wake me up? (O HAI I go to bed late on weekends, Fool.)

She was afraid I’d be late for the plans I made today.

Now, we can all go, “Awwwwww!” and think, “Goddess really IS mean!” Or we can put it into context that, at age 36, I know how to set a FUCKING ALARM.

*blood-curdling scream*

And this is why I am nice to our employees. This is why I do not hop on a plane to Baltimore and KILL the people who don’t “get it” and make me nuts with their repeated mistakes. Because I am already going to hell for the evil, evil thoughts that pervade my entire being when That Woman simply speaks. I have to be nice to SOMEBODY, yes?

And if her friends love her so much, why don’t THEY adopt her for a while? Maybe I’d remember what might have once made her lovable and maybe recover some of that feeling again.

Or I may change my phone number and move. Whichever. 😉 At least I’d like to have the option!

My boss ran into a friend of mine last week, of the single, attractive male variety. She immediately texted me, “He’s really nice! Do you have a type?” I said, “Yes. How’s his 401(k)?” 🙂

Yeah, he doesn’t live nearby. But you knew that already. Why on earth would the universe put me in the same city with anyone?

I’m just glad and thank God every day that He gave me a friend in my own community. We work for the same company, just a few streets away from each other, and get together at least weekly.

Lady L is the reason why I’ve gotten to try all my favorite restaurants, go on awesome adventures and, really, get a job that I’m growing to love.

And I guess I’m musing about this right now because the universe has its way of kicking you when you’re down, but also lifting you as high as you want to go. And I think we could all use a reminder of that when it happens, so we don’t forget what’s possible.

I heard a rumor out of Ye Olde Workplace yesterday (not the Den of Iniquity), right about the time we’re all sitting around and evaluating who our A-, B- and C-players are here at the Tinfoil Hat Compound. (Don’t ask.)

And it occurred to me that the last of my beloved team has been officially disassembled. Any evidence of the magic that once was, is no more.

Sigh.

And not to offend the handful of talent there that remains, but as I sit here and evaluate myself and my own team, I realize that clearly Ye Olde Workplace is happy with a bunch of C-level players in control of what’s left of the asylum. That the people with the ambition, imagination and talent either left of their own volition, or were given a running start before the freight train rolled after them. Fucking stupid, is all I can say.

I won’t name names, but when Foot Fetish Guy and Stop Impregnating Your Poor Wife to Prove You’re Straight, not to mention the three-headed hydra that I described to someone today as those “who have no life, no sense of humor and absolutely no regard for anyone else’s ideas/talents/ambitions than their own. (And that’s not saying they HAVE any of their own)” are the only ones left standing, well, you won’t get a whole lot of sympathy from me when the devil returns to collect their charred little souls.

That’s their A-Team. A as in Assholes, that is.

Don’t get me wrong — they did a lot of good in the world. When they stayed out of the way of greatness. But in the grab for credit, for glory, for dominance and, ultimately, for ego building/preservation, they killed something that was downright invincible back in its glory days.

It’s almost worse than the Den of Iniquity, whose evil stench you could smell from five states away. There were no real surprises there. It’s the ones who polish up real pretty who you’ve got to worry about.

And it is kind of funny how I’ve risen past all of it. I am in a power-player position with the leader in the industry. I remember when I jetted the fuck out of town, one of those five had said to me, “I may be coming to YOU for a job someday!” And I remember thinking, heh, oh HELL YEAH when I get to say, nope, your dreams mean as much to me as mine did to you, Fuckhead.”

Methinks I just burned some serious bridges with this post. But I’m pretty through with cow-towing to people with the business acumen of a double-dong dildo. In other words, if I can just remain an A-minus-ish player where I am, my life will turn out JUST fine.

And so will the lives of everyone they crushed along the way.

Butterfly

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I saw this tiny orange wonder on Friday morning. I wondered if it were my grandmother, whose birthday would have been Saturday.

I know the dearly departed don’t have the same concept of time as we mortals. So when my mother insists on buying birthday cake to celebrate what would have been my grandmother’s 83rd birthday, it doesn’t necessarily mean my grandmother is celebrating at the same time.

Milestones and millennia are the measures of time on our respectively different planes.

Which is why my UEOEH thinks she’s welcome in my house for ALL TIME and the past few years have felt like a MILLENNIUM and THEN SOME for me.

This past weekend, I started doing what I always do when I’m unhappy at home. I started buying stuff “for my next place.” My hope is that THIS is my next place. I don’t want to move. I LOVE living on the water. I ADORE having all this space. I just want to get rid of my mother and my (albeit beloved) cat Kadie so that they have each other, wherever they end up.

I bought a cute little (overpriced) “dresser” for hairthings. And I found the duvet set that I bought two years ago for $150 on sale for, yep, $14.99. Dollar-cost-averaging, yo.

I bought another comforter that I liked, too. I have two bedrooms, after all, when the UEOEH goes away. All I need is another bed!

I also found a CUTE rug that matches my old/new comforter set. Two, actually — a small one and a 4′ x 5′. Since I have no carpets — and I will have gotten rid of Kadie who likes to wipe her pissy ass on everything, it is sitting on a shelf in my closet.

In other news, I applied for (and got) a car loan. I just haven’t returned any of their calls. I know what car I want … and I know what my interest rate is. Sigh. And I’m not in the mood to pay *mumblemumble* a month when all I need to do is drop the damn car off at a dealer and spend a small (albeit one-time) fortune to fix mine up pretty.

Oh wait — there ARE no Pontiac dealers left! *headdesk*

In better news, my car is legal in Florida. I swear to God, I have to get a ticket in every damn state because I let the registration slide. Now to go pay the f’ing ticket. Whee!

In any case, the butterfly hung around me for a long time while George sniffed around. He was being good and not tugging on his leash. He let me watch the butterfly dance and dance and dance.

Was it my grandmother? Was it a sign that everything is OK, or that it will be? That I’m loved by the universe, even if it feels like I must have bullied it in a past life?

I just wish my mom would leave, so I can miss her. I wish my job didn’t have to be so much work sometimes. I wish I had more friends in the area. I wish for lots and lots of stupid, materialistic stuff, too. But perhaps my great hope right now is that, like this beautiful butterfly, I can spread my little wings and soar above it all.

Lady L and I went to church tonight. I’ve missed Sunday night services; it’s been forever since I’ve attended.

I was even telling my old pastor today that I don’t make it to church much anymore. Not sure why I said it. I do find beauty every day and everywhere, and I thank God for letting me experience it. But maybe I’m at a point in my life where I’ve stopped seeking God and started trusting him somewhat.

I say “somewhat” because the UEOEH situation continues to drive me mad. She never takes me seriously that I want her out of here. And now that we’re in car insurance hell, I don’t really care if she doesn’t have any. She’s lost everything. I guess nothing has been important to her. This should be. And of course it will go into the “It’s your fault!” and “You’re mean!” pile like everything else.

My church zen wore off after eight minutes at home, when she banged on my door to babble. I cut her off to say I wanted to move to a studio apartment, and where is she going to go? “Under a bridge” is the answer. I said, look, it’s been three years of sitting on your ass — I don’t see why this has to be a forever thing. Am I supposed to have you in my house for the next 40 years?

She said she’ll go wherever I put her. And that’s the thing — why do I have to pay for it? I don’t mind helping. I’m GLAD to help. Just get out.

So she starts boo-hooing that I’ve eroded her confidence completely and she can’t do anything. That she’s been putting in applications but nobody wants to hire her. It’s ALL MY FAULT for being MEAN to her!!!

I went back to a tune I hadn’t sung in a while — what about volunteering? Nobody turns down free help. I mean, I got each of my last FIVE jobs because I knew somebody. You aren’t going to meet anyone, sitting your ass in front of the Food Network all day. (But, alas, I’m MEAN!)

Incidentally, I’m watching “In Her Shoes” tonight for the thousandth time about sisters in Philadelphia and Delray Beach. One’s a big old screwed-up mooch who gets kicked out because she is her own problem to solve, not her sister’s. Damn, I love this movie. And the scenery is familiar so even better.

I don’t really want to move, BTW. I just want the place to myself. I want her out.

I know she’s got problems. She needs therapy. She started sobbing over overpaying for something today. I know money is scarce for her. I know she can budget like no one I know. But she’s never had the drive to make money. The rent has always been paid, you know? Someone always saves the day.

Lately I’ve thought about having kids. Damn 36. But if she gave up a life to raise me and then figured she could be dependent on me when I got old enough, fuck that noise. Think again. I don’t ever want to feel like my kid owes me. And I WOULD be old as dirt if I had a kid now. 🙂

And it seems that all my friends who are in financial dire straits have the “having kids” thing in common. Sure, they’re rewarding. Eventually. After they get a job. But what about in the meantime when they’re crying, screaming, needy little monsters and Momma doesn’t have enough money for both pinot noir AND back-to-school uniforms? Sorry kid — we’ll alter last year’s!

Anyway, Pastor Todd had said this morning that every person God puts in your life is a gift — even if you wish they came with a gift receipt. And I see mom sitting here being sad about everything — money, missing her parents, knowing I can’t stand her, being helpless, being in pain, being in debt, worrying about everything, being unemployable, etc. Fuck, I’d be depressed, too. I don’t mean to take that away from her.

But the low-cost/free resources in Florida for health care seem really good. But you have to be a resident and guess who keeps dragging her feet on getting a driver’s license? Etc. That sort of thing is what infuriates me. Take a step and I’ll help you take the next two. Sit on your ass and I’ll, so help me God, turn off the cable.

I know she misses her parents. I wonder if I’ll be the same way when she’s gone. I forget pretty much everything about them, sad to say. She reminds me of little things, which is nice. But in the grand scheme of things, aren’t we supposed to move on and live our lives? Like the whole Sept. 11, 2001, adopted motto: “Never Forget.” As if any of us can help but remember. But it hurts a little less every year. Wounds do heal, even if they scar.

I was realizing the message at tonight’s sermon was sort of aimed at me, and sort of not really. I told Lady L that when I first appeared at the church about a year or so ago, I was in a bad place. Spending a year working in the Den of Iniquity will do that to a person. Couple the mom situation and it’s a wonder I didn’t get ammo at Wal-Mart and blow my widdle brains out. And every sermon felt like it was aimed at me — get thee out of despair, child.

And today, I realize I don’t have much to despair about. Other than the seemingly permanent presence of the Food Network-watching gargoyle, I’m good. I have a great friend in Lady L. I <3 her fur-child George. I am in a position of power at work. I’ve got someone looking out for my emotional needs and providing much-needed daydreaming material. I’m about to get another stamp in the passport book in less than six weeks. And we’ve got a road trip planned for Saturday — after I attend a dog-adoption event. 🙂 It’s all good, really.

But I see how happy I am when I’m by myself in Lady L’s palace with George. Or, of course, when she’s there with us. 😉 Naturally! Without her, I would never have gotten to try all the restaurants in the area. Or gotten in the car to visit the Keys or St. Auggie’s. Or to see New Orleans, which we’re doing later this year. Or, for that matter, to have had the fateful happy-hour meeting with my boss before she became my boss.

Lady L has been my lucky charm. Thanks to her, not only do I not have to stare at the UEOEH every fucking day and minute of my life, but the UEOEH recognizes that I’m just not available to bother anymore. I probably have plans with Lady L, she assumes. And, well, she’s right!

Is it so wrong to want to have a perfect life? A robust 401(k) — that is, a prayer of retiring — money, love, travel, peace, social interaction when I want it and silence when I don’t, a job that I actually kick ass in, and a voluntary relationship with my mother without her forcing herself down my throat. Do I really ask for that much?

So, as Pastor John was telling us tonight, Joseph (of the Technicolor Dreamcoat variety) had a shit life. Sold into slavery twice, Pharaoh’s wife kept seducing him and he kept avoiding her in the name of staying true to his God, and all kinds of other crap. Yet he had God’s favor. And everyone around him and even the crops were blessed because of him. Am I Joseph here, without seeing the blessings and simply feeling cursed for the aggravations? If I’m so blessed, why doesn’t it rub off on UEOEH? Why does her dark cloud continue to storm on me?

The good news is that I have gotten rid of all the toxic people in my life. And I’m no longer getting all the hellfire and torture that came along with knowing them. So God’s got my back there. I dunno. I guess I’m wishing the wait would pay off sooner rather than later. Even though I know we’re storing up riches in heaven with all the nice things we do here, I selfishly want to enjoy my time here, too.

Oh well. Fewer than 48 hours till Lady L and I wash down what’s sure to be another insane week with the best mojitos in town. I can’t look forward to UEOEH getting the hint and leaving, but you can set your watch by me numbing the pain with alcohol. 🙂

Anudder treat, plz?

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I realize all my cutest George photos are on Facebook, but I couldn’t resist this widdle face. I just spent the last seven days with this adorable little wonder, and it’s my first night without him and I feel lost.

I do have a cat who is eyeing me contentiously, smelling the puppy on my hands and remembering the one time I brought said puppy home to meet her. He ate her food, peed in her dish and pretty much peed everywhere else, too.

This is the same dog who chose his least-favorite copywriter and shit in his office on Labor Day. What can I say — the dog is regular!

I took this lovable ball of fur to PetSmart on Thursday. We loaded up on treats. He’s such a little diva — when I fed him a treat courtesy of the store (read: free bowl o’ treats), he spit it out. TWICE. But Aunt Dawn found some things he loved and we were all good from there.

(Warning: I’ve turned into a proud parent here. I will stop. Shortly.)

I had to laugh when a lady in a hurry took her dog outside the store to pee. Of course the dog pooped. And of course she didn’t have any bags and was contemplating how long it would take to get to the car and back before anyone saw it and got disgusted.

I wordlessly handed her a poop bag. She was so grateful! Dog people in general are kind of awesome. This week, I got to know the “regulars” on the A1A — both the dogs and the owners — and I’ve got to say I’ve rather loved it. (Minus the fact that I was usually in pajamas.)

George is quite the chick magnet. I mean human women were fawning all over him. And the men who asked to pet him … wow! Meanwhile, George was all John Travolta and walking to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive” — he was NOT happy to break his strut for anyone!

But even people without dogs stopped to pet him. Hell, I took George to dinner last night and sat at an oceanside table. Everyone was calling him “Toto.” People were falling all over themselves to get him water and to pet him. I fed him crabcakes under the table and we had a lovely night together.

(I also had about two bottles of wine in two days too. So the last few nights when I got home were just fine, too! *hic* Fucking work week from hell. At least a bad week here is still better than a good DAY at the last place.)

But here’s an interesting twist. Today when George’s momma came home, I took one last walk without him. I just needed some sun. And the VERY same people who jogged past me the last seven days (and last four weekends, since we’re counting) looked straight through me. People with dogs kept walking, just trying to keep their pooch out of everyone’s way. The camaraderie had gone *poof*.

Oh well. George is a magical dog. He brings people together. He’s the new official mascot of my office. Everyone was very disappointed on Friday when I came in without him and they were all in line, waiting to see Teh Kyoot one. Nobody was happy to see ME, mind you … it was all, “You didn’t bring the dog? Bummer. We’re going back to work.”

That’s ONE way to get them to work. … 😉 Just kidding — most of them are kind of awesome. Even if they’re collectively going to put me into an early grave!

All right, we return to our regularly scheduled pet- and child-free posts. In other words, radio silence resumes in 3… 2… 1…

Tonight’s post is sponsored by a Jordan 2004 Alexander Valley Cab that is, shall we say, Dy-No-MITE!!!

Or orgasmic. Whichever.

It was a gift from one of my beloved boys when I left D.C. It’s freaking amazing. I wanted to save it for a special occasion, and being roommate-free is probably the biggest thing worth celebrating in my life right now.

Day 5 of my freedom has come and gone. Work has been a beast this week. I have to take off tonight from even so much as reading e-mails. I’ve had two glasses of wine (just poured No. 3), ate some chi-chi cheese from Whole Foods and smoked an Al Capone bourbon-dipped cigarillo.

Took G-Dawg into the office today. Everyone wanted me to go let him take a smelly poop upstairs, but I was profeshunal and stuck him on a chair next to me. I love me some terrier right now — they don’t jump off! Of course, he managed to jump out of the car on his own, to my utter surprise. Does that say something about my driving or the fact that the car is a rattling death trap?

We went to PetSmart for treats. It was a big day for him! And yes, a beloved male admirer noted tonight how I talk like either a dog owner or a parent about him now. My big boy!

*mmmm wine. Slurp*

So I have to put that dipshit asshole at my house on my car insurance policy. Which MORE than doubles now that I own her car. Grrr. I told her she has to call around and get her own damn quotes. Would it kill her to pay her own car insurance, for fuck’s sake? Of course it would. She pushed it back on me, I pushed back, she pushed back … etc. I’m like, fine. No insurance for your lazy ass. Don’t drive my car. Love, moi.

My friends have commented how calm I am now that I don’t live there. (For this week, anyway.) I actually had to stop one of my boys on the phone last night from talking about her. It’s like, no, do not break The Zen.

UEOEH texted me first with a photo of my cat looking miserable in a headband, and then with a note that it would have been my grandmother’s 83rd. birthday on Saturday. You know what else Saturday represents? The day she moved in three years ago. My grandfather died on Thanksgiving 2006. She spent the insurance money on living on her own till September 2007.

I wanted to text her that, really? It’s also the three-year anniversary of the WORST DAY OF MY LIFE that your lazy, dependent ass moved in. Fuck you and stuff yourself into a handbasket bound for guess where. Love, moi.

I can’t believe it’s only been three years that she’s been torturing me. I also can’t believe that a person can go three years with no purpose in life. Er, 53 … but who’s counting?

I also can’t believe how much FREE TIME I have that’s not spent hating her this week.

Fucking whore.

I was planning to walk to Ben & Jerry’s. But the last time I shoved a $20 in my pocket to walk the dog, I lost it on the street. Never did find it. I can only hope the wind carried it over to Boo Boo. In any case, I’d rather lose it on the A1A to some random person than keep funding the mooch in my apartment.

Ah, G-Dawg. Time to curl up with treats and watch some TV. …